The Shawshank Escape
by CCT
Summary: (AU, Shonen-ai hints --later-- 1+3) This is a story of one man who was unjustly imprisoned for murder and his life in prison. (rated for language and suggestive themes)


**Title: The Shawshank Escape (Prologue)**

**Warnings: AU, Shonen-ai hints 1+3 (in later chapters), angst, 1st POV **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters, and I don't own the story I am basing this off of. This story is just done for fun!**

**Notes: Hello everyone! I just have a few things to say before I let you read this story. I am basing this fic after my favorite movie and story! The movie is called "The Shawshank Redemption" and the story is called "Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption" by Stephen King. I am going more by the written story, though the movie will hold true as well. ^__^ Now, if you read the story (I want to call it a book, but it is a "short" story in Stephen King's "Different Seasons".) then you'll notice this is very similar, and that's the way I wanted it. As the story goes on it will turn down its own road, though the main points will still be there, because… well I LOVE this story ^__^ and I wanted to use the GW characters to retell it! Okay, that's all I wanted to say.**

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**                I guess, in every prison there is a guy like me--I'm the guy who can get it for you. Tailor-made cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, brandy or whatever you are partial too, maybe a pack of cards with naked ladies on them, or almost anything...within reason. **

                I'm not going to lie to you and say I didn't do it, because I did. I committed murder. I'm not proud of that fact; actually, I'm down right sorry for it. But being sorry for something you spent weeks planning doesn't account for much in a courtroom. I was 18, two months over actually, when they sent me to Shawshank prison. A fact that haunts me to this day, two months into my 18th year I was a convict, sentenced to life in prison, go figure.

                  I was a mechanic and a damn good one in fact. Still am. I worked at a fairly small mechanic shop on colony X01196, Benny's Auto Shop. Shit, I can still remember the name, after all these years. That surprises me, but what doesn't surprise me is the fact that I can remember the names of each person I killed on May 9, A.C. 154.  I had just gotten a call from my overbearing boss. He stated that his Shuttle needed a tune up, and fast. So I did just that, I gave his shuttle a 'quick' tune up. Quick, in the meaning that I barely touched it. All I did was fix the brakes. I fixed them so they would falter as soon as he placed his big, fat foot on them. 

                I hated him, Benny Martin. Benny Martin was the man I killed, the man I planned on killing. Susan Martin, Benny's wife. I killed her too, but I didn't plan it that way. Mike Martin, their son, I killed him too. God, I didn't plan on his family coming. How was I supposed to know Benny was going to take his family to visit some of his family?

                I had been in the back talking with a costumer when Benny came for the shuttle. I heard him talking to me, but didn't pay too much attention to him. But I should have, and then I would have seen his family also climb into the shuttle. As the shuttle took off I finally came out front to see it go, and that's when I saw them. Susan and Mike they were sitting in the cockpit with him. I was going to scream for them to stop, but it was too late. Benny hit the thrusters and they went zooming off. 

                I watched the shuttle turn the corner, heading for the exit out into space. The brake lights flashed, indicating Benny pressing the brake. But the shuttle didn't slow. Benny must have panicked because the shuttle made a sharp right turn slamming into a wall. Soon after that the shuttle burst into flames.  

                I killed three people that day. I hadn't planned on killing that many. I also hadn't planned on getting caught, but caught I was. Colony X01196 didn't have a death-penalty so the District Attorney saw to it that I was tried for all three deaths and given three life sentences. They were to run back to back. This meant I had very little chance of parole for a very long time. The judge called what I did a 'hideous, heinous crime,' and it was, bit is all in the past now. If you really want to read about it look for the news clipping at your local library. It was big news in all the local papers, and a few nation wide papers picked up the story.  

                After twenty years in prison I was finally allowed a parole hearing. They asked me if I think I was now a rehabilitated man. I answered them as best I could while sitting under their bright lights. But as I left that room I realized something, I didn't even know what that word meant. As far as I know it's a politician's word. It may have some other meaning --one I still haven't thought of-- and it may be that I will have a chance to find out, but that is in the future...something that us convicts try desperately not to think about. 

                I was young, good-looking, and from the poor side of the colony. I went to school, occasionally, learning the basics. When I was seventeen I had a mechanics class at school. The instructor saw some real talent in me and recommended me to Benny as an 'apprentice'. A yes-man was more like it. Yes, Benny, I'll rotate those tires. Yes, Benny, I can give that shuttle a once over. Shit, I did everything that ass hole asked of me. Being so young I didn't see any other way. It paid pretty well, considering my age, and I didn't see any other option considering I had just dropped out of school. But as time went on Benny's treatment of me just got worse. I began to hate him. Soon enough hate piled up to cause me to do what I did. Given a second chance I wouldn't do it again, but I'm not sure that means I am rehabilitated.

                Anyway, it's not me I want to tell you about; I wanted to tell you about a guy named Trowa Barton. But before I can tell you about Trowa I need to explain a little bit more about myself. I promise it won't take too long. I don't like talking about myself; I'm really not all that interesting. 

                As I said, I've been the guy who could get you things for almost twenty years. And that doesn't just mean contraband items like extra cigarettes, although those items are always at the top of the list. But I've gotten thousands of other items for men doing time here, some of which are perfectly legal, just not something you could find in a place where you were supposedly brought for punishment. 

                I've gotten men chocolates on Valentine's Day. I've gotten reference books, some joke novelties, and even a few books on sex. I've gotten men hand buzzers and itching powder for April Fools. None of these things come cheap of course, and sometimes the fees go pretty high. But I don't do this just for the money because, seriously, what good does money do me now? I'm not going to buy a car here, or take a two week vacation to Colony X11532. I do it for the same reason a butcher will only sell the freshest of meat: I got a reputation and I want to keep it. There are only two things I refuse to handle which are guns and drugs. I won't help anyone kill himself or anyone else. I've thought enough about killing to last me a lifetime.

                Yeah, I am the man who can get it for you. And so when Trowa came to me in A.C. 173 asking if I could smuggle a Heavy arms --A type of Mecha, really popular back in 150's-- into the prison for him, I said it would be no problem at all. And it wasn't.

===to be continued===

**CCT: Okay, so how does it sound so far? ^__^ I actually finished this prologue a loooong time ago, and just found it again recently. I really wanted to pick it up again, along with some of my other old and almost forgotten 1x3 fics. So, I will be working on the first part as soon as I can. Oh, and can you guess who is talking? Well, it's Heero in case you didn't know. ^__~ Hehehe! **

Okay, that's all for now! Review please! 


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